In Wine Country
The sun paints courtyard and walls with autumn,
The fruit stacked in heaps all around,
Before them poor children cower.
A gust thins out old linden-trees.
Through the gate a golden shower rains
And the women blessed with child
Tiredly rest on rotten benches.
Drunkards swing glasses and jugs.
A hoodlum lets his fiddle sound
And smocks swell lustfully in the dance.
Roughly brown bodies embrace.
From windows empty eyes gaze.
Stench rises from the fountain's mirror.
And black, decayed, departed
The hills of vines dusk all around.
A migration of birds glides swiftly southwards.
poem by Georg Trakl
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Related quotes
Psalm
Stillness; as if blind people sank down by autumnal wall,
Listening with rotten temples to the flight of the ravens;
Golden stillness of autumn, the countenance of the father in the flickering sun
At evening the old village decays in the peace of brown oaks,
The red hammering of the smithy, a pounding heart.
Stillness; in slow hands the maid hides the hyacinthine forehead
Under fluttering sunflowers. Fear and silence
Of extinguishing eyes fulfills the dusking room, the halting steps
Of old women, the escape of the purple mouth which slowly expires in the darkness.
Taciturn evening in vine. From the low rafters
A nocturnal moth fell, nymph buried into bluish sleep.
In the courtyard the farm boy slaughters a lamb, the sweet smell of the blood
Clouds our foreheads, the dark coolness of the fountain.
The gloom of dying asters regrets, golden voices in the wind.
When it becomes night you look at me from moldered eyes,
In blue stillness your cheeks decayed to dust.
So quietly a weed's fire expires, the black hamlet in the ground falls silent
As if the cross climbed down the blue hill of Calvary,
The silent earth ejected its dead.
poem by Georg Trakl
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In the Evening
A blue brook, path and evening along decayed huts.
Behind dark shrubbery children play with blue and red balls;
Some swap the forehead and the hands rot in the brown foliage.
In bony stillness the heart of the lonely one shines,
A small boat rocks on blackish waters.
Through dark woods hair and laughter of brown maids flutters.
The shadows of the old people cross the flight of a small bird;
Mystery of blue flowers on their temples.
Others sway on black benches in the evening wind.
Golden sighs quietly expire in the bleak branches
Of the chestnut; a sound of dark cymbals of summer,
When the strangeress appears on the decayed staircase.
poem by Georg Trakl
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A Land Gone Black
the sound of gunfire
rapes the virgin night...
another innocent goes down....
the soldiers of petroleum
buy a whore, a dime, a quarter.
dine on the flesh of children;
pray to the neon god.
waving the flags of mouths
that only speak with teeth.
nothing holy that cant be bought....
step on bodies without faces,
piss on the graves of babies....
winner take all, all is nothing!
and the wind of the beast
knocks at the blackened windows....
in the empty houses of the poor,
the worthless, the forgotten.
the sound of gunfire rips the stillness....
the gods of anger and self
fornicate in the stench,
keeping time to the rhythm
of oil rigs in a land gone black!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Psalm
It is a light, that the wind has extinguished.
It is a pub on the heath, that a drunk departs in the afternoon.
It is a vineyard, charred and black with holes full of spiders.
It is a space, that they have white-limed with milk.
The madman has died. It is a South Sea island,
Receiving the Sun-God. One makes the drums roar.
The men perform warlike dances.
The women sway their hips in creeping vines and fire-flowers,
Whenever the ocean sings. O our lost Paradise.
The nymphs have departed the golden woods.
One buries the stranger. Then arises a flicker-rain.
The son of Pan appears in the form of an earth-laborer,
Who sleeps away the meridian at the edge of the glowing asphalt.
It is little girls in a courtyard, in little dresses full of heart-rending poverty!
It is rooms, filled with Accords and Sonatas.
It is shadows, which embrace each other before a blinded mirror.
At the windows of the hospital, the healing warm themselves.
A white steamer carries bloody contagia up the canal.
The strange sister appears again in someone's evil dreams.
Resting in the hazelbush, she plays with his stars.
The student, perhaps a doppelganger, stares long after her from the window.
Behind him stands his dead brother, or he comes down the old spiral stairs.
In the darkness of brown chestnuts, the figure of the young novice.
The garden is in evening. The bats flit around inside the walls of the monastery.
The children of the caretaker cease their playing and seek the gold of the heavens.
Closing accords of a quartett. The little blind girl runs trembling through the tree-lined street.
And later touches her shadow along cold walls, surrounded by fairy tales and holy legends.
It is an empty boat, that drives at evening down the black canal.
In the bleakness of the old asylum, human ruins come apart.
The dead orphans lie at the garden wall.
From gray rooms tread angels with shit-spattered wings.
Worms drip from their yellowed eyelids.
The square before the church is obscure and silent, as in the days of childhood.
Earlier lives glide past upon silvery soles
And the shadows of the damned climb down to the sighing waters.
In his grave, the white-magician plays with his snakes.
Silent above the place of the skull, open God's golden eyes.
poem by Georg Trakl
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Why Don't You Come?
See the swallows quit the eaves
And fall the yellow walnut leaves,
The vines with autumn frost are numb,
Why don't you come, why don't you come?
Oh, come into my arms' embrace
That I may gaze upon your face,
And lay my head in grateful rest
Against your breast, against your breast!
Do you remember when we strayed
The meadows and the secret glade,
I kissed you midst flowering thyme
How many a time, how many a time?
Some women on the earth there are
Whose eyes shine as the evening star,
But be their charm no matter what,
Like you they're not, like you they're not!
For you shine in my soul always
More softly than the starlight blaze,
More splendid than the risen sun,
Beloved one, beloved one!
But it is late in autumn now,
The leaves have fallen from the bough,
The fields are bare, the birds are dumb...
Why don't you come, why don't you come?
poem by Mihai Eminescu
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Replacement
Amid the village is a deserted house,
That gives depressing impressions to the onlookers,
The windows and doors are shabby broken
There dangle bats on the walls at nights, and crows caw
At noons in the branches where nightingales sang,
And often at nights mysterious sounds we hear.
Ah! Four decades ago it was inhibited,
Noise of the children spilled out of its walls,
They all played hide and seek with the befriended kids.
I too played believing in the innocent notion
That time and tide could not part us asunder,
Whether rains rain and clouds thunder,
But my self-assumed belief proved fragile,
Then the shocking moments approached,
And occupants departed to a better dwelling abroad.
I often recall the moment when they departed,
The whole village gathered, men, women and children wept,
Their eyes were red as if blood would dropp soon;
They were kissing, embracing the departing fellows,
I wept too stealthily, and felt as if my soul was being torn apart.
Now after many years their descendents come and go,
Nobody receives or bids them farewell, nor do they bother anyone,
And each time they visit, they replace on the gate,
The rusty lock with the new one.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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In the Moonlight
An army of vermin, mice, rats
Romps in the hallway which shimmers in the moonlight.
The wind cries out as if in dream and whimpers.
At the window the shadows of small leaves quiver.
Occasionally birds twitter in the branches
And spiders creep on the bleak walls.
Through empty ways pale specks shudder.
A quaint silence dwells in the house.
In the courtyard lights seem to float
On putrid wood, decayed junk.
Then a star glistens in a black pool.
Statues still stand there from old times.
One still sees contours from other things
And a writing, faded on rotten signs,
Also perhaps the colors of cheerful pictures:
Angels singing before Mary's throne.
poem by Georg Trakl
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My Silence Shall Be
i find this in the forest of trees
long trees, shady, such that what you can see
are only shadows of leaves
and what you hear is only the sound of the wind
choked between tight walls,
this is my silence,
moist, and soft, between a growth of wild
ferns
rotten leaves heaps and heaps of
rotten leaves
layer after layer of rotten leaves
thick and pushed still to the roots
smashed to the ground
some seeds from the oaks
or maybe from the flowers of the orchids
or some sweet fruits and red berries fall
in there
and they begin to grow
rich as humus is this soil down
the darkness of this forest,
this is my silence
deep inside me
moist, rotten, but soon
lots shall grow
seeds turning into sprouts
to trees again
perhaps taller than ever
some fruits so sweet and colored and shiny
some flowers scented and so lovely,
this my silence
shall be, i am keeping it for years
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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84
my silence shall be
i find this in the forest of trees
long trees, shady, such that what you can see
are only shadows of leaves
and what you hear is only the sound of the wind
choked between tight walls,
this is my silence,
moist, and soft, between a growth of wild
ferns
rotten leaves heaps and heaps of
rotten leaves
layer after layer of rotten leaves
thick and pushed still to the roots
smashed to the ground
some seeds from the oaks
or maybe from the flowers of the orchids
or some sweet fruits and red berries fall
in there
and they begin to grow
rich as humus is this soil down
the darkness of this forest,
this is my silence
deep inside me
moist, rotten, but soon
lots shall grow
seeds turning into sprouts
to trees again
perhaps taller than ever
some fruits so sweet and colored and shiny
some flowers scented and so lovely,
this my silence
shall be, i am keeping it for years
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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One Saturday Morning At The Mountain Top Inside The House
it is raining outside
it is the habitualness of the image that flows inside us
green grass and rolling hills and clouds a drifting
the sound of rain like footsteps of children playing under the shower from heaven
i sit upon a chair looking outside
i am not thinking about anything simply watching the rain
the green grass
the trees the sea and the horizon that extends more than what my eyes can see
more than what i can contain
this empty bowl with a wide mouth open
this hollowness that cannot speak because it does not have the exact words
to say
it seems to me that the correct existence that fills this void is nothing
but the silence of the trees, the grass, the hills and the far away seas
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lets Dance
Hey baby wont you take a chance. say that youll let me have this dance.
Well lets dance, lets dance. well do the twist, the stomp, the mashed potatoes too,
Any old dance that you wanna do. well lets dance, well lets dance.
Hey baby yeah you thrill the soul, hold me tight, never let me go.
Lets dance...
Hey baby if youre all alone baby youll let me walk you home
Lets dance...
Hey baby yeah you swing it right. yes I know that tonights the night.
Lets dance... well lets dance, well lets dance
song performed by by Ramones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You, Me & This Autumn
It was you, me & this autumn, when
I stood an onlooker, then
You & the autumn romped again.
How I relish looking on, when
This autumn showered the golden
confetti on you, then
You & the autumn romped again.
Those birds, being envious of you, when
The silver heels & golden leaves would
make saccharine songs, then
You & the autumn romped again.
In our midst, this autumn was a bosom
pal, when
None would sing the songs with us, then
You & the autumn romped again.
You & Me were dashing on the greying
path, when
The autumn was younger & even younger,
our Love, then
You & the autumn romped again.
We met in every scuffle, we had, when
This autumn stood a witness, then
You & the autumn romped again.
Our deep ties with the autumn would
never go in vain, when
On our graves the golden confetti would
shower down again, then
You & the autumn romped again (close to
my grave)
poem by Pablo Keats
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Small Things Bother Me
He wore dark glasses I could not see his eyes
And the mirror to his soul he did disguise
He hid from the World his personality
Without the eyes a face you only see.
Perhaps his eyes from the bright sun he shade
The main reason why dark glasses are made
And though he lives nearby him I shall never get to know
As he wears dark glasses rain or sun shine or snow.
Any acknowledgement of me he never seems to show
And we pass each other by without saying hello
Through his dark glasses into my soul he peer
And he's still a stranger though to me he lives near.
Perhaps I'm small in ways and small things get to me
But it bothers me when others eyes I cannot see
Whether their eyes be blue, brown, green or grey who can say
As the mirror to their soul behind dark glasses hidden away.
I see him often though not every day
And his eyes behind dark glasses always hidden away
The mirror of his soul is well hidden from me,
Perhaps I'm small and small things bother me.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Lets Dance
Lets dance
Lets dance
Lets dance, put on your red shoes and dance the blues
Lets dance, to the song theyre playin on the radio
Lets sway, while colour lights up your face
Lets sway, sway through the crowd to an empty space
If you say run, Ill run with you
And if you say hide, well hide
Because my love for you
Would break my heart in two
If you should fall
Into my arms
And tremble like a flower
Lets dance
Lets dance
Lets dance, for fear your grace should fall
Lets dance, for fear tonight is all
Lets sway, you could look into my eyes
Lets sway, under the moonlight, this serious moonlight
And if you say run, Ill run with you
And if you say hide, well hide
Because my love for you
Would break my heart in two
If you should fall
Into my arms
And tremble like a flower
Lets dance
Lets dance
Lets dance, put on your red shoes and dance the blues
Lets dance, to the song were playing
Lets sway
Lets sway, under the moonlight, this serious moonlight
Lets dance
Lets
Lets
Lets
Lets sway
Lets
Lets dance lets dance lets dance lets dance lets dance
Lets dance
Lets sway
Lets sway
Lets dance lets dance lets dance lets dance lets dance
Lets dance
Lets dance
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The timetable of four
The golden glows of sunlight hit me
The smell of freshly cut grass reached me
The sight of freedom exhilarated me
The sounds of birds intrigued me
The beauty around me radiated from everything
The long open stretches of grass
The shady woodlands going on and on
The unending number of livening creatures
The cawing raven in the tree branches
The worm busily digging in the soil
The fish swimming idly in the pond
The child playing happily in the park
It is summer now but soon it will change
Soon it will change
Soon it will change into Autumn
I’ll still be in my tree
The children are playing in the heaps of leaves
The leaves have all gone a golden colour
The ravens are searching for bugs in the leaves
The fish are swimming slower in their pond
It is Autumn now but it will soon change
Soon it will change
Soon it will change into Winter
I’ll still be in my tree
There are no children playing
There are no leaves on the trees
The ravens have all gone south
There are no fish in the pond
It is Winter now but it will soon change
It will soon change
It will soon change into spring
I’ll still be in my tree
The children are starting to come back
The ravens are backing cawing in the trees
There is new fish in the pond
There are new buds on the trees
It is Spring now but soon it will change
Soon it will change
Soon it will change into Summer
I’ll still be in my tree
Waiting
Watching
Writing
Thinking
Fragile Glass
Its all so hostile within these walls
Mother screams
Father bawls
Children huddle, listen intent
Mother retaliates, fathers hellbent
Wide eyes, witheld breath
Silenced room, depth
Each sound dissected
Each thud stored
The yelps and pangs cannot be ignored
Theres internal battles due to actions of spite
THe worry most pressing
Will it last to daylight
Summer windows opened so neighbours may relish
Reality distorted
Imaginations embellish
With language most vile no child should listen
Another glass broken so its beauty may glisten
The walls they ache with the stench of abuse
Children's lives wasted
Emotions misused
poem by Karen Sinclair
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The Dark Valley
n pines a migration of crows flutters away
And green evening fogs rise
And like in dream a sound of violins
And maids run to the dance in the inn.
One hears laughter and shouts of drunkards,
A shower goes through old yews.
In deathly pale window panes
The shadows of the dancers scurry past.
It smells of wine and thyme
And lonely calling resounds through the forest.
The beggars listen on the steps
And begin to pray senselessly.
A deer bleeds to death in the hazel bushes.
Dully gigantic tree arcades sway,
Overloaded by icy clouds.
Lovers rest embraced by the pond.
poem by Georg Trakl
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My Orcha'd In Linden Lea
'Ithin the woodlands, flow'ry gleaded,
By the woak tree's mossy moot,
The sheenen grass-bleades, timber-sheaded,
Now do quiver under voot;
An' birds do whissle over head,
An' water's bubblen in its bed,
An' there vor me the apple tree
Do lean down low in Linden Lea.
When leaves that leately wer a-springen
Now do feade 'ithin the copse,
An' painted birds do hush their zingen
Up upon the timber's tops;
An' brown-leav'd fruit's a-turnen red,
In cloudless zunsheen, over head,
Wi' fruit vor me, the apple tree
Do lean down low in Linden Lea.
Let other vo'k meake money vaster
In the air o' dark-room'd towns,
I don't dread a peevish measter;
Though noo man do heed my frowns,
I be free to goo abrode,
Or teake agean my hwomeward road
To where, vor me, the apple tree
Do lean down low in Linden Lea.
poem by Ingeborg Bachmann
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Rhythm Of Romance
Coke machines on the ho chi minh trail
Russian spies shopping at bloomingdales
Killer bees swarming up the rio grande
Hey baby whered you get that tan
Rome burns as we dance cheek to cheek
Titanics sinking but oooh do we look chic
New york citys got the hong kong flu
And I cant take my eyes off you
Mx gi joe
Rsvp ufo
Abcia
I still want to know who shot jfk
Lets dance
To the rhythm of romance
Lets swing
neath the stars above
Cmon lets dance
To the rhythm of romance
Lets kiss
Lets fall in love
Johnny woke up from his american dream
Rich man poor man and a desert in between
Crystal chandeliers hangin by a thread
Were in the pink baby just two trillon in the red
And I hear gabriel blowing his saxophone
Through a great big hole in the ozone
Who cares it the sun dont rise
When I look in to your ultraviolet eyes
Thats life, this is war
I took it on faith, cant take it anymore
Old, young, yin and yang
Well all go together in the next big bang
Boom shug a lug a lug a boom
Lets dance
To the rhythm of romance
Lets swing
neath the stars above
Cmon lets dance
To the rhythm of romance
Lets kiss
Lets fall in love
song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rich & Poor; or Saint & Sinner
The poor man's sins are glaring;
In the face of ghostly warning
He is caught in the fact
Of an overt act---
Buying greens on a Sunday morning.
The rich man's sins are hidden
In the pomp of wealth and station;
And escape the sight
Of the children of light,
Who are wise in their generation.
The rich man has a kitchen,
And cooks to dress his dinner;
The poor who would roast
To the baker's must post,
And thus becomes a sinner.
The rich man has a cellar,
And a ready butler by him;
The poor man must steer
For his pint of beer
Where the saint can't choose but to spy him.
The rich man's painted windows
Hide the concerts of the quality;
The poor can but share
A crack'd fiddle in the air,
Which offends all sound morality.
The rich man is invisible
In the crowd of his gay society;
But the poor man's delight
Is a sore in the sight,
And a stench in the nose of piety.
poem by Thomas Love Peacock
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